


Strength of a soldier

by lonely_night



Category: The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: I am genuinely sorry about this, I don't like violence, M/M, World War II, concentration camp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-16
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-15 01:44:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4588290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonely_night/pseuds/lonely_night
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Newt is a medic and Thomas is a soldier in World War Two.<br/>They get captured and become POWs together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfic so it could be awful!  
> Comments appreciated  
> ENJOY ;)

THOMAS

‘Over the top boys!’ shouts Alby; giving us the command to climb over our trench and to wade through the mud and broken bodies below.  
Alby is leader of our straggly bunch of practically teenage soldiers. It is slightly worrying how our commander is in his late teens himself but Britain needs all the help of young and able bodies that it can get in the late but still uncertain months of the war. Our second world war. Hopefully the war to end all wars... but thats what they said the first time.

And so it begins, we clamber over our trench and look around.  
The rain pelts down hard on our dirt-ridden bodies and we stumble around drunkenly like fools as we try to find good footing.  
Bodies and limbs are strewn all around us and I feel like I want to be sick as I spy a man with his face blown in and blood trickling fast down his face. His other leg lies a few feet away from him.  
‘SHELLS: TAKE COVER,’ yells a soldier in my company called Bret.  
No, his name was Ben wasn’t it? Yes. My distinct lack of knowledge regarding my company is due to the fact that I have only just arrived here. I was fighting in Russia only three days ago.  
There is a deafening smash near me. Too near me. I poke my head cautiously around my makeshift shelter that is simply three dead Germans and the only bush left in the entire battlefield; all the rest are burnt to ash and dust.  
I can smell a mixture of metal and gunpowder and death; a shell.  
That means there will be a crater nearby that it will have just made. A chance of safety for a short while and maybe even, if I am lucky, a direct vantage point of the Germans. 

Warily, I step out from behind the bush and still my leg from kicking the dead German scum because, while they are doing evil things, they are still humans and we do still have that in common.  
Carefully, and keeping close to the muddy and soaking ground I creep soundlessly across ‘no man’s land’ to the nearby crater.  
Quietly, I slide myself into it and hope that the Germans aren’t already here or that there is poisonous gas in the crater.  
Two men are in the chamber, they both look like older teenagers. Neither of them look up as I approach.  
One of the two has clearly been severely wounded and the other man is a med-jack judging by the red cross on his scratched green helmet. I don’t why or when we started calling medics and doctors ‘med-jacks’ but I think it may be something to do with the ‘good english sense of humour’.  
“Hey, can I help?’ I ask. The teenager looks up and I can see the creased lines of worry on his young face and the dirt that is starting to stain his pure blond hair. He looks me up and down and I shiver slightly which I decide to put down to the cold water dripping off my hair and down my back.  
‘Are you a med-jack?’ he inquires with a strange but beautiful accent that I can’t quite place.  
‘Uh, no’, I say,  
‘It was a rhetorical question’, the boy mutters raising a handsome eyebrow. ‘I can see your not a bloody med-jack, but, I suppose any help is better than none’.  
“Oh... what would you like me to do?” I ask, a little put out by his blunt manner.  
“Some bandages to stop the bloody bleeding right now would be great,” he instructs me  
‘Right,’ I murmur as I try to prize my backpack open to find some bandages and water but I find that my numb and slippery fingers can’t open the stiff seal.  
‘Its ok, let me do it’, his voice softens and he smiles at me and waves his gloved hands at me, “theres lots of advantages of being a med-jack not a soldier”.  
I look down at my unprotected hands and mutter an almost inaudible ‘yeah’.  
Gently he slides my fingers off the seal and his warm, calloused meet mine.  
My stomach flips.  
‘Get a grip on yourself Thomas’, I think angrily to myself. ‘You’ve only just met this random guy’, snaps a testy voice in the back of my head.  
‘Yes, you’ve only just met this very random, very hot guy and you already want to be alone with him’, squeals an annoyingly girly voice next to the disagreeable voice in my head.  
I decide that, for once, I would take the girly advice because, I truly liked this random  
med-jack.

The hot boy opens the seal on my backpack and grins at me, taking some water and bandages from my pack.  
“Lets get Ben bandaged up then shall we?” says the boy,  
Ben.  
I thought I recognised him.   
I nod and help him wrap bandages around Ben’s arm and chest. Blood drips onto the boys arm and onto mine.   
“Names Newt by the way”, says the boy.  
Newt. 

Suddenly, there is a deafening bang close to us.   
The force of it knocks all three of us backwards and Newt slumps against me, panting.  
There is an ungodly shriek. I look around to see who it could be who is suffering so badly and to see if I can help. It takes both me and Newt a few seconds to realise that it is Ben.   
I stare at Ben. He is collapsed onto his bad arm and the pain must be intense. Very intense. Bad enough to kill someone too apparently, as I watch the life slowly drain from his eyes.  
Before I have time to feel any grief however, there is a shout and a man jumps down into our crater. I get a glimpse of his uniform. He is a German. Thankfully, he slips due to the muddy and wet surface of our steep crater and tumbles down to the bottom.   
Newt grabs my hand and tugs me up to the light, away from the German with the gun.   
However, we do not think about a German ambush above; we only think of the panic and worry beating through our hearts as we scramble up the slope.  
BANG!  
Newt moans loudly and tumbles into my arms.   
Blood pours down my hands and trickles between my fingers.  
“COME ON,” I shout, “WE MIGHT AS WELL KEEP GOING,”   
Newt nods slightly in agreement and I have drag, half carry him up the steep slope with his wounded leg trailing behind.  
The Germans are on us in a second, but, strangely they don’t want to shoot us, instead they carry us, and a couple of other prisnor back to a new place. A prison of a place. A concentration camp. I am a Prisnor Of War. So is Newt.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this one took a while, but, I have been quite busy lately.  
> Hope you don't mind the wait x

NEWT

My first impressions of the prison are awful. Bloody awful.  
The electric wire all around the prison camp is what I first see. Trapping me. Trapping me and the cute boy near to me together. The poor, trusting boy who I led here. I should have told him to get out, to run and to leave me. I should. But, the truth is, that I couldn’t. He gave me hope and I needed that. I needed the company.  
Dirt covered huts lie sprawled in the mud that sucks at our boots, and, no doubt, the worn-out shoes of the thousands of prisnor also that are busily scrambling about, getting tasks done.  
Next thing I know, the Germans are roughly grabbing us and shoving us into a cell with another boy in. In the sudden movement I fall against my injured leg which has been leaving a trail of blood behind me. The pain is so intense that I cry out and black spots appear at the edge of my vision.   
Strong, caring arms wrap around me protectively and a gentle voice ‘shh’s me.   
The boy. The last thing that comes into my mind is: ‘I really need to find out his name’.  
I faint.

It is early morning when I wake, and I find the boy sitting up next to me in the ‘cell’.  
My head feels like it has been clobbered with something bloody heavy and my wounded leg isn’t feeling so good either.   
I turn to the boy and remember my previous resolution.   
“What’s your name?” I question him,  
“Thomas”, he says, startling slightly at my sudden appearance.  
“Sorry for making you jump, Tommy” I say, grinning.  
He blushes slightly at the nickname. I wonder if he blushes for a bad reason because all English soldiers are called Tommy. Maybe he thinks that I think he is just an average soldier. I groan inside but it’s too late to take it back now.  
There is a muffled moan and I know that the other boy has woken up.  
“Who’re you?” asks the other boy sharply  
“Arrived yesterday”, says Tommy  
“I’m Newt and this is Tommy, I mean, Thomas’, I add, quickly correcting my mistake.  
“Gally” says the other boy, who glares hard at us before telling us to get up and get a move on.   
He roughly gives us our clothing and tells us to put it on and hurry, if we want any breakfast.  
I take my clothing from Gally and turn slightly for more privacy as I peel off my dirty and mud-caked English uniform.  
I get my uniform off alright but when it comes to putting on my itchy and scratchy POW (Prisnor of war) uniform I can’t get the trousers on, due to my injured leg.  
After several minutes of clenching my teeth and struggling, Gally strides past us with the comforting words: “Hurry up shanks, I’m not waiting”.  
Tommy has now got his uniform on too and is waiting for me.  
“Sorry Tommy, I’m gonna be a while, go on without me and I’ll catch you up.”  
“No, no”, murmurs Tommy; making goosebumps form all over my body, “let me help,”  
and gently, very gently Tommy helps me get dressed, avoiding my wounded leg as much as possible.   
“Thanks Tommy,” I say quietly, “We’re already late as it is, so I’ll dress the wound when we are back and put some stitches in”.

When we blearily walk outside some strict-looking Germans are waiting outside with whips in their hands.  
The Germans shout at us in their own language so I am not sure what they are saying, but, I’m assuming that they are telling us not to be late again.  
The Germans whip Tommy and then they whip me. Twice.  
It takes me a while to figure out why I got whipped twice, but then I realise that I was staring at Tommy the whole time, studying him, to try and take me mind off the pain. It is the only thing that Britain and Germany have in common. They are homo-phobic countries. To love a person of the same-sex is illegal. Sh*t.

The Germans then stiffly point us towards a log pile where some other workers are.   
We walk hurriedly over. “Hey!” says a small, American boy, (he can’t have been more than 14 years old), I’m Chuck, but you can call me Chuckie!”.  
Tommy and I glance at each other. “I’m Newt”, I say,  
“Thomas”, adds Tommy.  
“Cool!”, says Chuck, “Well, work for today is chopping up these logs, and handing them to the builders,” he waves vaguely in the direction of the said-builders. I spot Gally among them.  
Tommy and I immediately follow Chuck’s lead, and begin chopping logs.   
After two hours we figure we have enough wood to start handing it out to the builders. Tommy, Chuck and I all walk over and give out our wood, and I notice that Gally seems to be complaining to Tommy about the quality of his wood. Heat rises into Tommy’s cheeks and he opens his mouth to protest, but Chuck and I quickly grab his arm and pull him away to avoid starting a fight.   
Three hours later we were still chopping wood and it was beginning to get incredibly cold.  
“When can we stop?” I ask Chuck quietly,  
“No clue, I was the newbie before you guys turned up”, Says Chuck coughing slightly,  
I groan and look around. Suddenly I realise that we are some of the only people left chopping. I promptly point this out to Tommy and Chuck.  
“Oh no! You guys go in, I still have to finish the last few logs”, Says Chuck, sneezing.  
Despite our protesting Chuck insists we go on without him, and finally we relent.

Gally isn’t back yet so me and Tommy have some time to ourselves.  
As a harsh winter wind whips around our small cell, Tommy carefully helps undress me, I relish the touch of his strong hands on me as he gently pulls me clothes off.  
Afterwards, I quickly dress the wound with some bandages provided for me, and Tommy helps put the disgusting, itchy pajamas on me. I try not to moan though the pleasure that Tommy’s gentle hands give is great.  
Tommy lies so close to me we are almost touching, mainly because it is so cold that we need to share each others body heat, but also for other reasons. We lie companionably together until morning.


	3. Chapter 3

THOMAS

Another day chopping logs for Gally and his ‘chums’ greets Newt and I.  
Per routine I help Newt to get dressed and relish the feel of his soft skin under my fingertips. Everyday I wish to kiss that skin and to betray my true feelings to Newt. But, how do I know he feels the same way?  
Besides, it would give the Germans a great reason to kill us, and, unfortunately it would also give our own country; Great Britain to put me on medication or in prison, and generally to dislike me. Which is a bit unfair given that I have risked my life multiple times for my country.

I put my thoughts aside as I go to meet Chuck or Chuckie (as he likes to be called), who waves and grins at me and Newt.  
‘“Hey!”, I say, high-fiveing Chuck and bending over to chop some logs.  
It is back-breaking work, but finally I have about twenty logs to hand other to ‘Gally the snob’ and the other builders. Chuck, I noticed, is falling behind. “Let me give you hand there Chuckie-wuckie”, I say, grinning. Chuck raises an eyebrow at the nickname but doesn’t protest when I start chopping logs for him.   
In no time I have got Chuck 20 logs. I look round to check how Newt is doing, but see him handing Gally 20 logs. I smile. Newt is doing beautifully.  
“Thanks Thomas”, says Chuck gratefully. However, just as he says that, he bursts into a slightly crazy coughing fit. Not for the first time either today, I notice.  
“Why don’t you get some rest Chuck?” I question gently, “I’ll take over your pile”.  
“No way, I’m not having you slaving away just ‘cos I’m got a small cold”, says Chuck, shivering. 

For the next few days Chuck doesn’t show up for work at the log pile.  
I can’t help but feel worried about him so me and Newt resolve to go and see him in secret.  
Newt and I sneak across the Prison camp until we find the door that we have seen Chuck go through many times. “This is it”, I mutter,  
“Sure as hell it is”, whispers Newt, his voice slightly strained with nerves.   
My fingers brush accidentally against Newt’s cheek as I lift up a hand to open the door.  
I feel him shiver next to me and I’m pretty certain that its not from the cold.  
We carefully enter the room to see Chuck shaking and whimpering with blankets that are covering him.  
I kneel down beside him and see that is skin has a blueish tinge to it.  
“Chuck, hey Chuck”, I whisper into his ear,  
“Thomas?”,  
“Yeah, it’s me, Newts here too”, I say  
“I don’t feel so good guys,” mutters Chuck  
“I’ll go out and guard the door”, Newt says gently, probably sensing that I want to talk to Chuck alone. “One day, I thought I’d get out of here, and I thought that I’d s-see my mum again”, Chuck stutters from the cold, “I was gonna g-give her th-this, but you take it n-now”. Chuck presses a small wooden soldier into my hands.  
“No, I can’t, we are still gonna get you outta here buddy, we’re all gonna make it out”, I say, shocked.   
“Just t-take it Thomas”  
I accept it and tuck it into my jacket pocket. I tell Chuck that I will forever keep it safe and that I will find his mum and give it her.  
“T-Thank you Thomas, Thank you”, Chuck whispers, trembling for a moment, then he is still.   
A numbing sadness fills me and chokes me. I whimper forlornly.   
Suddenly, Newt is back, his arms around me, holding me close. I cling back to him as we cry together. When we pull away I look at Newt, and I swear I have never seen anyone look so sad. “Come on Tommy”, Newt says gently, as we stumble outside.   
When we are outside we quickly hide behind the log shed (where we know there is no German patrol, and also where we know we have no risk of being discovered out late at night: where we can grieve in peace), I pull Newt into a hug and put my hands on his waist. I don’t mean to, but it feels natural so I don’t move them. Newt shivers and puts his hands on my shoulders, whilst caressing my cheek with a finger. I sigh contentedly, I am so happy, and at peace that I don’t know what I say until I actually say it.  
“I love you”.   
I freeze, and hear Newt’s intake of breath, but the hands on my shoulders are still there.  
“I love you too”, Newt whispers.  
I take his face in my hands and tilt his head up slightly until his eyes meet mine. Gently, I lean forward and kiss his mouth. Newt kisses back, and it is sheer bliss.

When we get back to our cell in the prison camp, we notice with dismay that Gally is still awake. And the shuck-face is angry.  
“Just what do you think you two are playing at?”, hisses Gally  
“It doesn’t concern you Gally”, I spit   
“If the Germans questioned me about your whereabouts, would it still not?!” whispers Gally, angrily. Then I realise why he is so angry, he is scared. He is terrified.  
“You’re scared, aren’t you, coward”, I say venomously. Gally draws back his arm, as if to hit me, but Newt stops him.  
“Hey, hey, calm down!”, says Newt. “Wouldn’t a fight be a better reason for the Germans to kill us or treat us worse already?!”  
That shuts Gally up and I feel a surge of pride for Newt. My Newt.

The next few days I feel a numb feeling for Chuck but also, a spark of energy every time I see Newt.

Newt and I are behind the log shed kissing. I put my hands on either side of Newt and his hands move to my hair, tousling it. I moan. I want Newt. Like, really want him.   
But before we can get any further there is an exclamation. In German. Someone has spotted us... and their German. F**k!!!  
Rough hands grab me and Newt. Newt looks at me, his eyes holding my gaze and I sense his worry, his shock, his recent lust, and his trust.   
We pass Gally who ask us what’s happening. I tell him that I’ll be damned if I know.   
“If you die, or if something happens to you...” shouts Gally,   
“Great, we’re all bloody inspired,” mutters Newt drily  
“I want you to know I’ll never forget you Thomas, or you Newt.” 

And then we’re being told to take go take a shower. We take of our shoes, undress in the open (I sneak a peek at Newt’s beautiful body), and join the long line of others, presumably heading for what is apparently a ‘shower’.   
We walk into a small room with showers. It is murky and dirty.  
Automatically, the showers turn on, but instead of water and steam, gas fills the air. Poisonous gas. Choking my lungs and making me gasp for air.   
20 minutes later and there aren’t many people still alive. Newt looks like he is breathing his last breath. I take his head and tilt it up to mine. I kiss Newt, for the last time, and Newt mumbles something against my lips. “You are stronger than me Tommy, you always were, but stay with me until the end?”.   
Newt’s eyes soften and he loses the maniac desperation, the will to live.  
“Please Tommy please.”  
I grab Newt’s hand as I watch the light leave his eyes, and his head tilt back slightly.  
A numb emptiness fills me. Like with Chuck’s death. Only this is perhaps worse, as I know that there will be no happiness know, no-one I love left.

Suddenly, there is shouting and soldiers barging into the gas chamber, coughing. Hands grab me. “Hey Tommy,” shouts someone. “It’s ok now, you’re safe!”. But my Newt wasn’t, and nor was Chuck. I close my fingers around Chuck’s wooden soldier and know what I shall do next, I shall find Chuck’s mum.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooray! It's finished!  
> Hope everyone likes it ;)
> 
> However, I won't be able to write much this year as I'm going to be quite busy :(  
> All my free time I ought to be writing though, fingers crossed! xx


End file.
